


I Know

by JPA



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Crying, Cursed, Dialogue Heavy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, Love, M/M, Sad, Short One Shot, Sickfic, Spark Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Time Skips, i guess?, okay, probably, you get it this is all just angst tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 08:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPA/pseuds/JPA
Summary: “I’m sick, Peter.”





	I Know

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's been a while, oops! 
> 
> So! This is a sad fic! Woo! Angst and sadness! I wrote this whole thing today so sorry if there are any typos! I will fix them if you point them out to me.  
> This fic goes along with a song I wrote, which I have posted on my tumblr.
> 
> If you want to find me on tumblr, my user is lambobomb, so you can always check that out, too, but I'll probably never use it! Who knows! Anyway, I'm not sure what tags I should use, so if there are any tags that I need to put, please tell me!

_If I died now, would I go to Hell_

_Would you mourn me or someone else_

_Would you finally believe in_

_What I had been_

(THREE MONTHS AGO)

“I’m sick, Peter.”

The dimly lit room is quiet as Peter and Stiles sit on the sofa together, both men staring blankly at the bare wall in front of them. They held hands, as they always did when sitting on the sofa together, but there was a certain emotional distance between the two.

“I know,” Peter replies after a few beats of silence. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t want the bite, Peter,” Stiles says immediately, gently squeezing Peter’s hand. He can feel the way Peter tenses at his words, though he knows what he said was not unexpected.

“I know,” Peter repeats, a tremor to his voice. It’s unusual, to hear Peter sound so defeated. Angry? Yes. Cocky? Definitely. Scared? Never.

Guilt overwhelmed Stiles, “You’re the only one who understands. That doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.” He’s tempted to let go of Peter’s hand, but he can’t force himself to. There’s so much he wants to say, to do, but he feels so lost. “I love you, you know that?”

“I know,” Peter says, again, reminding Stiles of a broken record.

_Would you even miss the real me_

_Or would you keep on believing_

_The lies you told yourself_

_When I was still around_

(EIGHT YEARS AGO)

Peter and Stiles meet at some lame “business” conference that werewolf packs from all around the world go to when they’re looking for allies. Most of it’s bullshit, really, but a lot of packs think it’s a good way to keep tabs on who’s all still alive.

Stiles only comes as a friend’s plus-one, almost ready to put pack life behind him yet not willing to not know the ins-and-outs of the supernatural community. At one point, he’d been an emissary, but—after unfortunate circumstances—now he was left cursed and unable to use his magic without severe consequences. These days, he was more interested in pack gossip than anything else anyway.

Of course, Peter is expected to be there to help represent the Hale pack. His sister and alpha, Talia Hale, has a no-nonsense attitude when it comes to official pack business, and had demanded Peter’s presence at what he thought was no more than a sad attempt at a supernatural meet and greet.

They meet on a balcony, both trying to get away from the overwhelming crowd, as cliché as that is.

“Now,” Peter purrs, “who do we have here? You don’t smell like a pup. A magician, then?”

“Most emissaries would fry your ass if they heard you say that,” Stiles huffs, leaning back against the balcony’s railing. He lifts an eyebrow when Peter only chuckles. “I’m Stiles. I came here with the McCall pack—or what’s left of it anyway.”

Peter hums, “Troubled times?”

“I’m sure you could discuss things with Alpha McCall if you’re really interested in his pack’s well-being, Mr. Hale.”

Peter doesn’t question how Stiles knows who he is. Almost everyone knows who the mighty Peter Hale, left hand of Alpha Hale, is. What piques Peter’s interest is the underlying meaning of Stiles’ words.

“Are you not a member of his pack, then?” Peter asks, always nosy. It was his job to be nosy, after all.

“I used to be,” Stiles murmurs, his eyes catching Peter’s own. He quickly shifts his gaze, looking out at the night sky. “Alpha McCall refuses to let me serve my purpose.”

“Your purpose?”

“Magic is all that I know, Mr. Hale,” Stiles answers, plastering on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Without it, I am nothing, and my body knows that, but it goes either way.”

“What goes either way?”

“With it, I will become nothing. I either quit magic and slowly forget myself, or I use it and die. Well, either way I die. It’s just a matter of how I die, I guess.”

“How depressing,” Peter responds, clucking his tongue. “I take it Alpha McCall wants you to go with option one so that he doesn’t have your death on his conscience.”

“Yep,” Stiles says, popping the ‘p.’ “I don’t blame him, though. It’s not like I can only use magic for a pack of werewolves. I can use it for other things, it just seems less fulfilling when I’m using my powers to make flowers bloom instead of using them to tear my enemies apart.”

The laugh Peter lets out is shocked but also absolutely delighted. Stiles smirks, raising his eyebrows at the older man, but his gaze is still set on the stars. Peter comes closer to the young spark, resting a hand on his shoulder. Stiles shivers, finally ripping his eyes away from the sky and giving Peter a curious look.

“How would you like a job, Stiles?”

_And you don’t know me_

_Like you think you do_

_Like you think you do_

(FOUR MONTHS AGO)

Stiles doesn’t know he’s sick until he’s coughing up blood in Peter’s bathroom sink. His hands shake against white porcelain, too out of control to get a good grip.

For the first few minutes, he’s in denial. It’s too soon. He still has so much to do—so many problems to fix, so many people to protect.

And what about Peter?

 _What about him?_ Stiles thinks, shaking his head. _He knew this was going to happen. We both knew._

What about the others?

Stiles hadn’t talked to Scott in years. In fact, Stiles hadn’t talked to anyone from his home town in years—not even his father. They had tried to control Stiles, fearing that they would lose him to his powers. They had only been thinking about their own pain. Not using his powers would have only given him an extra five to ten more years to live, and in those five to ten years he would have been a shell of what he’d once been.

That was all over and done with now. Stiles had left and he’d made a life with the Hale pack—with Peter.

They’d fallen in love quite fast—mated even faster. It had only been five months after Peter had started courting Stiles that they had ‘tied the knot,’ so to speak.

“Stiles?” a voice calls from downstairs, shocking Stiles out of his thoughts. “Stiles? Are you okay? I smell blood!”

The voice, luckily enough, belongs to none other than Laura, who Stiles knows will buy a half-assed excuse as to why she smells blood.

“I’m fine!” he says, not bothering to raise his voice. Werewolf hearing, right? “I’m just clumsy and nicked myself with one of the knives! Nothing a little magic won’t fix!”

He can almost hear Laura’s dramatic eyeroll that he’s sure is happening, because of course he can. She’s definitely spent too much time with him over the years.

“Alright, well, I was just stopping by to tell you that Peter isn’t going to be home until later tonight. Do you want to come with me to the pack house or are you going to stay here?” she yells, still downstairs. Now Stiles is the one to roll his eyes, though he’s grateful that she’s not getting any closer to him. Who knows how much blood he’s coughed up? If she gets too close and smells all of it, she’ll get suspicious.

“I’ll stay here!”

She leaves, shouting out some quick farewell. When Stiles hears the front door close, he lets out a sigh of relief before leaning over the sink to stare at the blood he’d coughed up.

How was he going to keep this from a pack of werewolves? How was he going to keep this from Peter?

He wasn’t ready for all of this. He wasn’t ready to take care of everything before leaving. Dying? He could do that. Saying his goodbyes? That was going to be a little trickier.

_You can’t change me_

_Like you wanna do_

_Like you wanna do_

(PRESENT DAY)

“You’re the only one who’s going to really miss me,” Stiles says one night, drowsy from illness. He’s laying down in bed next to Peter, staring into the older man’s eyes sleepily. “You’ve never tried to change my mind. You’ve always listened to me. You’re the only one who really loves me for me. You understand—”

“Stiles—”

“No, Peter. I know I’m loved. I know they love me,” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes, “but it’s a selfish love. You never tried to own my identity, never tried to claim to know what I was thinking. They tried to choose my path for me, but you offered me a way out. I’ll—I’ll never forget that, Peter, okay? No matter what happens when I’m gone, you have to know that. You have to know that wherever I am, even if I’m nowhere at all, that I love you. My love for you will always be here, with you, just like you were always here for me.”

“I love you, Stiles,” Peter whispers, pulling the spark close to him. It was the only way Peter knew how to hide his tears from the other man.

“I know,” Stiles murmurs, resting his head against Peter’s chest.

They both close their eyes, a little older and a little wiser than they were when they’d first met. Though fate had decided to make their time together short, it certainly had decided to make it nothing less than what was meant to be.


End file.
